"Oh, nothing really. Maybe it's only funny to me."

He slid down to the floor himself now, collecting discarded his discarded shirt, his tossed-aside jeans. He passed a hand over his face and magicked off the blood as easily as he'd magicked off the spittle before. He flung it aside, a deft snap of his fingers. It spattered on the wall--only pinprick spots of red.

"I am glad you remember, though. Oh, truly, I am."